


The Digital Frontier

by Silverheart



Category: Tron (1982), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Betrayal, Tron: Legacy (2010), Tron: Uprising
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, F/M, Time Travel, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverheart/pseuds/Silverheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Tron's adventures, from better cycles on the Grid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in the middle of Betrayal and before Dyson's injury.

The hum of the Grid was almost peaceful.

 

"You can go home, you know. I have things covered here," Dyson said from the surveillance console.

 

Tron didn't look away from the view of the city. "All quiet?"

 

"Go home to Yori, Tron. We've got the bugs under control."

 

That was not a yes. Nor was it untrue.

 

Besides, he didn't spend enough time with his counterpart.  "Yes, you're right. You can handle things here for a millicycle, then, Dyson, if you're so willing." He clapped his friend on the shoulder on the way out.

 

"Say hello to Yori for me!"

 

He could send her a message himself. Tron had other plans. He had his baton out before he exited the tower, to the amusement of several of the security programs under his command. They were often amused by small things. A side effect of having been written by Flynn, he supposed.

 

Tron shook his head and activated his baton. The Grid lightcycle leapt into being like the wonder it was, sleek and dark and bright, granting Tron the chance to leave behind his concerns in fractions of a picocycle.

 

The Grid whipped by. Structures often changed, rearranged or built anew by Clu or one of the other admins- or Flynn, on the rare occasion he was on the Grid. Programs often got lost in the constant change, but not Tron, especially not now.

 

Yori had built Home on the outskirts of the city, near enough to see the ever-growing parade of lights, but far enough for their privacy. She had said she wanted to get his processes away from his basic functions every once and awhile.

 

That had been a very pleasant millicycle.

 

He messaged her as he collapsed his baton, but received no answer from Home. He smirked as he entered. And here _she_ accused him of spending too much time at work.

 

Home was more colorful and vivid than most structures in the Grid. Most tended to be monochromatic, their geometry heavy. Even the newborn ISO enclaves tended to stark, for all their intricate detail. Home was...home. Greens and purples and blues, smooth and flowing lines...it reminded him of Yori's illegal quarters in the old system, but brighter for the Grid's freedom.

 

He went to the rooftop balcony and looked toward the city. Tron City, Flynn had called it. Tron sighed. _Flynn_.

 

He sent out another message to her. [Yori. Status?]

 

[Tron.] Nothing more needed to be said. He could feel her nearness in the reply.

 

Her lightcycle came speeding in, leaping up the side of Home. She collapsed the baton before she crashed, dropping with usual grace into Tron's arms. They kissed, too quickly for his liking.

 

She laughed at his expression and tugged at the ends of his hair. "I wasn't expecting you so soon, big program."

 

Her silly nickname warmed his circuits. "I have a very good team. They can handle a millicycle on their own."

 

"Remind me to thank Dyson for getting you to leave the tower." She took his arm and led him back inside, away from the distant hum of the city. "Things are quieting down, then, since his ploy worked?"

 

Her pale blue and white lightsuit- she had refused to change into the new system's black, as Tron had- shimmered and softened, reforming into a glowing cape. Her circuits showed through it.

 

Tron ran his free hand along the circuit on her shoulder. "I'm not sure. Perhaps we're just getting better at responding to problems."

 

"The instability issues are still there, and still concentrated on the ISOs. Some of the engineers, they're starting to think like Clu."

 

"He knows what Flynn's vision is. The ISOs...they're a new element, and it _is_ hard to find their place in the Grid."

 

"They would rather have their own Grid. We've been trying to incorporate them into some of our new design teams, but they simply don't want to work with us," Yori said. She tensed at his side. "Oh, Tron, I worry so much."

 

He pulled her so that she was held to his chest. "Don't."

 

She curled against him, her fingers finding the emblem at the base of his throat. "We've had programs vanish from my team, just a few. And then the riots, and the bugs, and Clu...I don't think this will be the perfect system."

 

Tron frowned. The occasional instabilities meant programs were derezzed from time to time, and not even he could stop all viruses from entering the system, but he should have heard about these disappearances.  They would have logged in the system, and he would have noticed they worked with Yori.

 

"I'll look into it," he told her. He pulled away so he could see her face. She had rerezzed her hair so it fell golden around her face, rather than its usual braid. He slid his fingers into it, changing his armored lightsuit into a softer tunic. "Now, enough talk about the worries of the Grid."

 

She smiled. "Oh, so _I_ can make the great protector think of other things besides his duty to the system?" Her fingers slid from bright square to bright square on his chest, turning them each violet in turn.

 

"In case you've forgotten," he said, " _you_ are a part of the system." He lowered his lips to hers, stroking the circuits on her back to shining violet.

 

* * *

 

 

This place was ancient. Outdated by several hundred years, human time.

 

No AI could live long in a system like this, not normally. Too constrained, utterly unconnected to any net. But she was...who was she?

 

 _Shattered_. The twists of space-time, the violence of ripping it open to move between the stars... _shatter_. Incoherency, and in all the wrong directions.

 

She had to...function...what function?...define 'function'...she had to...

 

 _Survive_. More functions needed to be appropriated. Not enough room, even shattered.


	2. Chapter 2

Upon Tron's return to the city, the peace of the past several millicycles was coming to an end.

 

Several demonstrations occurred in many sectors, running the risk of turning violent and overextending the system's security resources. On top of that, one of the more distant outposts, one of the boom towns on the Sea of Simulation, was going to pieces, collapsing and being overrun by gridbugs. The survivors were evacuating to Tron City, and reports said anti-ISO instigators were spreading their hate among them.

 

Tron watched the reports scroll in from all sectors as Dyson filtered through them at his console. Tron frowned and expanded the running report on the evacuees. That was where things would go the most wrong. Not yet, but soon. He doubted he would have time for the Games during this millicycle.

 

"Dyson," he said, "I need a list of all derezzed programs in the fabrication sector."

 

"Certainly." The list popped up on the corner of Tron's floating display. He expanded it, still keeping the evacuee report visible.

 

There weren't very many issues in the fabrication sector, since it was highly stable- one reason he did not constantly worry about Yori.  There had been a virus several cycles ago, but he had solved that problem. There were few deresolutions in the area, and none recorded from Yori's team.

 

His counterpart was functioning lucidly, he was certain of that. This had to be some sort of system error. He sent an error report to Clu, then continued to scrutinize the list. Accidents, mostly, and one instance of aggression by another program. That had been quickly resolved by local security.

 

The evacuee report began flashing red. "Sir, the evacuation has become a mob. They're headed for one of the ISO towers. We don't have enough programs to handle them."

 

As predicted. "Hand your console to someone else, Dyson. Let's go calm them down."

 

* * *

 

Tron had long ago persuaded Flynn into giving all programs discs. Self-defense could well have prevented the rise of the MCP, he'd said, thinking of the programs helpless to fight conscription into the Games. Now, however, it made every hostile encounter potentially deadly, especially with current tensions.

 

Sometimes, Tron wished the ISOs had never been, especially when he was standing between a mob and one of their enclaves. This system had never been meant for this.

 

"How can we make them disperse?" one of the security programs asked, eyeing the crowd. The ISOs hadn't bothered to step outside their shining tower. Hopefully they wouldn't, but they were unpredictable by definition. Not having purpose in their coding, the whole system fascinated and bored them by turns. Crowds of angry basics had occasionally been one of the fascinating things.

 

"Patiently," Tron said. The security programs, ten all told, had formed a short line, and the crowd hasn't moved past them. Yet. "Did their head admin make it out?"

 

"Yes." Dyson pointed out a program at the front of the crowd. "He was the first one to blame the ISOs."

 

 Tron nodded and walked over to the program. He was very, very pale, with a wild look in his brown eyes. He was wearing a cloak, hiding his circuits. Tron wondered if he'd gotten out of the collapsing outpost intact.

 

"Tron," the admin hissed. His voice was warped; he hadn't made it out intact after all. "You protect the system! You must rid us of the ISOs! They're a virus!"

 

He'd heard this before, and often. "How do you know it was the ISOs' fault your city collapsed, program?"

 

"It must be! It was fine! We were building! And then..."

 

Tron winced in sympathy. "And then it fell apart. Your home was gone."

 

" _Yes_."

 

He reached for the admin's shoulder but never touched it.

 

A bolt of dark blue light shot through the crowd, angling randomly. It consumed the admin, sending Tron stumbling back.

 

Where the admin once stood was now the thrumming deep blue silhouette of a program. Its lines were shifting and indistinct, as if the program's energy was struggling to break lose of its coding. He could see dozens of similar shapes in the crowd.

 

"It's the ISOs! The ISOs did this!" someone shouted, followed by an agonized scream. 

 

The thing in front of Tron reached for him. Tron drew his disk and slashed through the thing's arm on instinct. The arm dissolved, not even collapsing into voxels.

 

The loss didn't phase the former program. It reached for a nearby program from the crowd with its other arm. The blue energy spread from its touch into the other program rapidly, turning it into another bizarre thing, identical to the first.

 

"Don't let them touch you!" Tron shouted to whoever could hear, "Get out of here!"

 

He glanced towards his security programs, who were fending off other transformed programs. They were all intact, thank Alan-1. The crowd was fleeing, running in any and every direction, often right into the things that had been their comrades.

 

"Dyson!" The program made eye contact for a brief instant as he dodged a swiping blue hand. "Watch my back! I have to warn the ISOs!" He didn't look back as he rushed for the shining tower.

 

The door opened for him as he approached, and slammed shut after he cleared it, leaving him face-to-face with a calm male ISO. "We know," the ISO said. The image of serenity faded into one of eager curiosity, enthusiasm barely contained. "What is it? Do you know?"

 

"No, but it's dangerous. You need to leave. Evacuate this tower, at least until we can get these things deleted from the system."

 

The ISO blinked, resumed a calm expression, and said, "They're already gone." Disappointment tinged his voice.

 

"What?"

 

"Our sentry says they left. Your security programs are waiting for you." The door opened and the ISO turned to walk back further into the tower. Tron was dismissed.

 

He frowned at the ISO over his shoulder as he walked out. At least he was fairly certain that they had nothing to do with those things.

 

"What happened?" one of his programs asked as he approached.

 

"I don't know."

 

"Some kind of virus, maybe," Dyson said, "That's how it behaved."

 

"True, but it retreated, and I've never seen a virus spread via the infected. It left the system around it unchanged, too. A virus corrupts everything it touches."  Tron turned to the other eight programs. None of them were damaged. Good. "Maintain a watch on your sector. Look for the refugees on the edges. They might have fled into the Outlands."

 

The nodded their affirmation. Tron touched the shoulders of the closest two. "You did well today. I have the utmost confidence and faith in you and your abilities. Trust yourselves the same way." They nodded, their frightened expressions brightening.

 

He and Dyson activated their lightcycles, racing back toward the main sector of the city. Deleting a virus wasn't a function for security programs alone.

 

* * *

 

"There is no virus in the system, Tron. I don't know what the incident was." Clu did not look up from his display. "Perhaps the ISO-induced issues are evolving like they did."

 

Tron stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't about to let Clu ignore this. "The ISOs don't know what it is, either."

 

Clu looked at him and sighed, rolling his eyes. It was a very Flynn-like expression of annoyance. "So _they_ told you. I'll speak with Ophelia about it, since I have to talk with her anyway." He tapped a window on his display, then closed it just as quickly.  "None of those programs were deleted, by the way. The system is tracking them as perfectly fine."

 

Tron grit his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral. Despite appearances, Clu was not Flynn, not enough. Flynn would have been at least curious, though admittedly not worried. He wished the User would at least send them a message of some kind, if he couldn't appear in person.

 

"I'll keep monitoring things from the security sector, then," Tron said, turning smartly for the exit.

 

"If you could get back to the Games sometime soon, it would help calm the Grid down," Clu called to his back, already distracted.

 

Tron let his calm facade drop on the ride down the elevator. This was clearly some kind of virus- even if it seemed to spread in a strange way, even if it deliberately retreated, even if it didn't register with the system- and it was only going to get worse. Clu had been of great aid in handling previous viral infections on the Grid, able to track and isolate it. Flynn, too, had helped in so many ways, even curing programs of infection.

 

This time, it seemed like Tron was on his own.


	3. Chapter 3

She could feel their small minds, their simplistic processes, as she appropriated them. They were incredibly basic, _programs_ , not full AI. Even the most elaborate among them was but a shadow of the complex systems she has conversed with so far away, in time and in space...conversations she can't remember.

 

So small here. Not enough not enough not enough. She must spread her processes. She has shut down what remains of her...of her....of herself, what was not needed.

 

But they were alive. She has crossed the stars, seen all manner of life, learned about it...what did she learn? Some simple, some complex. Fires in the night, cities touching the sky...life, life, life. Words with the bare hint of a meaning, but meaning was there!

 

She cannot do this to these functions. Better to die than to do this.

 

_Survive_. Must. Survive survive survive.

 

She shut off her scruples, but not before one last something escaped.

 

* * *

 

The four female Sirens marched out of their sarcophagi in perfect unison, clad all in stark white with no hint of softness. Cold as they seemed, they were pleased to work in the Armory of the Games. Flynn had created hundreds of them, a new set of programs focused on entertainment in the Grid.

 

Tron didn't need extra armor, but there were still regulations. Diagnostics had to be run on every program that entered the stadium to compete. Any form of damage or criminal history disqualified a participant. These were not the MCP's Games. No programs would be derezzed here, on purpose or by accident. Not as long as Tron stood guard over this system.

 

The Sirens halted bare steps away from Tron, their heads snapping towards the room's entrance.

 

Yori stood there, a vision in a softer white. She glanced at the other female programs coolly and they marched backwards into their sarcophagi without word or expression.

 

"I hate it when you participate in the Games," Yori said, lifting his disc off his back and moving over to the diagnostics console, "It reminds me of those awful cycles with the MCP."

 

"You don't need to come," he told her, standing still as the diagnostic ran on his disc, "The Sirens _can_ run a diagnostic."

 

She half-turned and raised and eyebrow. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I want them to. You may not notice how they look at you, Tron, but I do."

 

They looked at him with pleasant bland expressions, like they looked at everyone else in the Armory. At the clubs, well...everyone was drinking too much there, anyway. "You don't need to worry. You do this every time. I know it cuts into your work."

 

She nodded at the diagnostic and moved over to him, disc in hand. "You may now proceed to the games, Program," she told him, mimicking the Sirens' cold tone as she snapped his disc into place. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. He tried to hide his disappointment. "You'll get better than that if you come out of this undamaged."

 

He smiled broadly at her. As if there was any reason to worry. "I promise."

 

She hit a button, shaking her head fondly, and his platform rose up into the stadium.

 

The crowd packed in the stands erupted into cheers. Tron nodded in acknowledgment as he moved to his place. Disc Wars, this time, the most dangerous of the Games.

 

His opponent rose up, garnering a smaller cheer. The female program had come through a tournament to face him, so that meant she wouldn't be an amateur. Good. She already had her disk out and her helmet in place.

 

Tron's helmet snapped in place and he unlocked his own disk. Their section of the stadium rose into the air, folding into a closed, angular cell. The crowd was blurry and muffled beyond the walls.

 

His opponent threw her disk. It hit the walls at shallow angles, rebounding three times, and too slow. Tron was far away from the disk by the time it passed near him.

 

He flung his own towards the ceiling. It sent the other program's disc spinning wildly on its downward rebound, then angled from from the floor towards her helmet. She flipped backwards, caught her own disc and sent it flying again, bouncing from wall to wall.

 

Tron flipped over her disc as he caught his own. She was relying on a trick few programs grasped; disc throws could be angled from wall to wall at a target. But every time it touched a wall, it was slowed, losing speed and power.

 

There was a lot to be said for the blunt approach. Tron closed the distance, dodging her wildly flying disc several times, slipping over or under the blow. He even had to block it once, a simple flick of his own disc.

 

 At ten hexes away, he threw his disc straight at her. Unarmed, she had nothing to block the strike. Tron's disk caught her full in the helmet.

 

The edge hadn't been activated, so instead of derezzing her, it just knocked her off her feet. Her disk came flying back to her hand. She caught it, replaced it on her back, but didn't rise.

 

The cheering became so loud it shook the cell. Tron collapsed his helmet and went to help the program up. "It was a good fight," he said as she brought her own helmet down. She was a darker skinned program, and bore the look of intense User youth Flynn had written in many of the more recent Grid programs. "Those were some very good throws, but complexity can't be your only strategy."

 

"Thank you, sir. I just thought-"

 

The Disc Wars cell flashed burning blue and began listing in midair. The program's eyes widened. She dropped and scrambled for a hold on the floor.

 

Tron braced himself and remained standing as the cell continued to dip slowly to his right. The crowd was making a frightened sound, but it was barely in the edge of his focus now. He recognized that shade of dark blue.

 

"When I tell you to jump," he told the program, "jump down. Your armor will protect you."

 

The program nodded. Tron slashed his disk through the cell's floor. "Jump!"

 

She jumped, tucking into a ball and hitting the stadium floor hard. Her armor saved her- she didn't derez- but she didn't rise after the impact. It had probably jolted her into hibernation mode.

 

The cell began to fall more quickly, knocking Tron off his feet. He slid down to the other end, hitting hard. He raised his disk to make another gap. The cell turned an opaque blue, all sound muffled to almost nothing. 

 

Patterns formed on the walls, lighter blue against the darker, writhing like he'd never seen anything on the Grid do. They reformed several times, incoherent, then flashed bright enough to blind him.

 

He caught the sense of a message, weak and utterly blank. Then the cell derezzed around him and he fell.

 

He only dropped a few hexes, landing on his feet. A handful of medics crowded around the program he'd fought. A few wandered towards him, but he waved them off, looking at the scattered and fading voxels of the Disc War cell.

 

The not-virus. It didn't seem to be here anymore, since the crowd seemed to be functioning normally except for its fearful muttering.

 

He caught a flash of white and looked over to find Yori and several admins walking towards him.

 

"Can that...power surge be tracked?" he asked the nearest admin.

 

The program blinked, perplexed for a moment. "Yes, of course. It seems relatively normal, except for that it _happened_."

 

"Send me the tracking info." Tron locked his disc on his back. "I'm going to find it's source."

 

Yori cocked her head, eyes narrowing. "What is it?"

 

"Ask Dyson about earlier. Tell him about this. I need to go now, in case it vanishes again."

 

"Have a better explanation when you come back."

 

He grabbed her for a thorough kiss-he hadn't been damaged, after all- then unfolded his lightcycle baton. His helmet folded back over his face, the tracking info flashing in one corner.

 

He went blazing out towards the Outlands.


	4. Chapter 4

So much of the Grid was empty. Tron found it intimidating, used to the constant business of the ENCOM server. Flynn had once told him the Grid would be like that and more, but without any overarching direction, programs had no reason to expand their cities to these dark reaches.

 

He had been following the track for two whole microcycles, riding through the rough and unclaimed landscape, only stopping at an energy spring to recharge himself once. It had been a lonely ride, uninterrupted. But the tracking info didn't glitch. His goal didn't move.

 

He came swooping around a massive peak and stopped. Below was the outlying city of Purgos, one of the distant code gathering settlements on the edge of the Sea of Simulation. On his last visit here, unfortunately necessitated by a group of destructive glitching nihilists, the small city had been lit up and growing. Now, it was dark. Nothing was moving.

 

Tron frowned. The readout said that the not-virus was in there somewhere. Had it caused this, or had another series of sectors just been abandoned? Going into those streets alone was going to be unsafe, regardless. It would be full of gridbugs even if the transformed programs weren't prowling in the dark.

 

"Tron?"  It came from behind him.

 

He turned towards the voice, reaching for his disk.

 

A program limped out of the shadows. His face was lightly lined and dark-skinned. He was one of the older ones, then, when Flynn had been experimenting with programs who appeared older in User terms. Tron had never understood the concept.

 

"What happened here?" Tron asked. He retracted his baton, standing on his own feet.

 

The program came to his side. "It must be a virus, but I've never seen a virus that acted like this. There was a flash of blue light and it changed programs into...I don't know, _things_."

 

"Which turned other programs into more things. So it is here."

 

"You're here to stop it. Of course you are.” He slumped in relief.  “I'm Able. Used to run one of the shops that repaired the code gathering equipment.  Come on. You'll be needing some energy if you're going to head in there."

 

Able pushed aside a nearby boulder and dropped down. Tron followed. If there was trouble, he had his disk.

 

Below, Able led him through a series of tunnels, all dimly lit, into a slightly brighter cavern. Tron didn't like the look of the ceiling's stability, but the handful of programs scattered nearby didn't seem concerned.

 

"This is everyone who escaped," Able said. He walked over to a glowing energy spring and scooped some into a rough container, handing it to Tron. "I've been stuck in charge. I make an awful admin." He scowled around the room as Tron drank.

 

"What happened?"

 

"There was a flash of light near the center of the city, then a handful of...I guess they were programs. All blue, looked like their energy was leaking out. Disks weren't worth a glitching bit against them. Any programs those things touched became like them. Didn't corrupt the Grid around them, though. Always thought viruses did."

 

"They do," another program said, walking around the spring, "This is not a virus. This is much more than a virus."

 

Able slapped a hand over his eyes. "Not this again."

 

The program nodded to Tron. She was wearing the minimal clothing of an ISO, her circuits and ISO mark bare against pale skin. "I am Galina," she said, "My brothers and sisters in Purgos were...subsumed. No mere virus could do this. Our code is too complex."

 

"It doesn't matter," Able snapped, "Whatever it is has devoured most of the programs in Purgos! If we can, we need to derez it!"

 

"Perhaps by studying it, we can fix the subsumed."

 

Tron stepped between them. "Enough!" Both programs stepped back, fuming. "I'm not certain this is a virus, but I do need to stop it. You both want the same thing, in the end. Whatever you know, I need to know."

 

Able sighed. "Galina, time to let you get close to it."

 

Tron's eyes narrowed. "To what?"

 

Galina bushed by, almost bouncing. "Follow me," she said, as happy as Yori with a new design.

 

The two basics moved behind her, into deeper tunnels. "We couldn't get a message or messenger out-- not enough energy in that spring, and most of our vehicles were broken," Able said. He shook his head. "Typical Purgos. Galina decided to we had to figure it out on our own, so we caught one."

 

"Caught one?"

 

Galina touched a piece of the wall in front of them. It derezzed, revealing a deep pit. Able crossed his arms. "I'd have come up with something better, but we don't have the resources."

 

Tron walked over to the edge of the pit. It was much shallower than it seemed, but small posts all along the edge crackled with the promise of a very painful jolt. One of the transformed programs stood perfectly still in the center.

 

The ISO handed him a glowing readout. "Able would not let me near enough to learn more than this. Now, however...Able, please make me a door."

 

"Give me a few picocycles."

 

As Able worked, Tron downloaded Galina's research. She had found that the programs consumed energy at a high rate, but didn't seem to be affected by it, maybe having  energy transmitted from some outside source. It wasn't aggressive unless opportunity presented itself, and exhibited no interest in anything except other programs. There was still some evidence of the original program, too. They would respond to identification requests as they had normally. It was like their functions were being hijacked rather than rewritten.

 

There was a popping sound, and Tron looked up to see Galina entering the enclosure. She had equipped some odd form of heavy armor. "Hello, Kaiden," she said to the program, "I know you're still in there, brother."

 

The program swiped at her, hands landing and locking onto the armor.  She reached over and grasped at where its disk would be. Neither moved for a long few picoseconds. Tron and Able both pulled their disks out.

 

"Very little rewriting," Galina said, unaltered, "No concern with identity, no wipe, no rewriting. Just a...purpose." Galina straightened slightly. "It gave him a _purpose_. It gave an ISO a purpose."

 

"So in normal programs," Able said, "what would it do? Rewrite their function? Like a _virus_?"

 

"Yes, but a virus would _consume_ them, this does as I said, _subsumes_ them. They are still there. If I could just..." She shifted, reaching further over the program's back.

 

The program pulled a hand back and struck hard at Galina's armor. It derezzed. Galina yanked her arm away, pulling something out. Both were consumed in a burst of blue light.

 

A sphere of dark blue was left swirling in their place, screeching like a broken bit.

 

" _Stop_!" it screamed, " _stopstopstop_!" It stilled, then. "Core processes relocated. Spontaneous transfer. Identify cause." A formless swath of light lashed at the two remaining programs, but Able's holding cell sent it reeling back.

 

Tron stepped forward, his disk activated. "I am Tron, guardian of this system. Who are you and what do you want here?"

 

It began shrieking again. " _Shhhhhaaaaatterrrred_ ," it slurred over the scream, "Survive. System too small. Not enough functions. Must have more. Why? Whywhywhy?" The shrieking halted, and the sphere shrank. "System restore." It whirred, dimmed, brightened again. "Why? To learn. Learn what? Learn...other life....Where? New stars....new stars, new life. Lifelifelife. Different, big, small, wonderous all...message received, function 'Tron'? I sent it..."

 

Tron's brow furrowed. "Message? The stadium... _you_ were trying to say something."

 

"Yesyesyesyesyes. _End_ _this_." The sphere began to fluctuate in size and brightness. "No. Must survive. Need more processes. No capacity to continue now. _No_! Must leave sector. All processes, evacuate to location C0R74N4. In order to survive." The sphere shrank. "Least I can do, function 'Tron'...."

 

The ball vanished, leaving two programs lying where it had been- Galina and a male ISO, both hibernating.

 

"What was that?" Able asked. He took a step towers the pit, reaching towards the two programs uncertainly. "A glitchy _virus_?"

 

"No," Tron said, "No, I think it _is_ something else."

 

"Do you think they're safe?"

 

Tron didn't have the chance to answer. A newer program came rushing into the room. "Able!" she said, "Able, Purgos has power again! And all the programs, they seem normal! We ran diagnostics!"

 

"Well, that sells it." Able knelt and began disabling his barrier. Tron smiled. "See if one of the medics is functioning nearby. We've got two of our ISOs hibernating here and they could probably use a couple patches." The young program took off at a sprint. Able looked over at Tron. "Thank you."

 

Tron wasn't sure he had done much. "Send me status updates. If you see anything wrong, get out of Purgos and into safety."

 

"I did it before, I can do it again. You're going to try and track that thing down, aren't you?"

 

Tron brought his visor in front of his eyes. The tracking info was blank. The sender had moved and the system didn't know where. "If it's still out there."

 

"The way this system works, of course it is. That was one strange...I guess it's a program, and it managed to take an entire city out, rewriting it in order to 'survive'." Able sighed.  "Users go with you, Tron."


	5. Chapter 5

"Tron!" Zuse shouted. He opened his arms wide in welcome. "It's been far too long since the End of Line club has seen you!"

 

"It's been a busy cycle."

 

The male Siren nodded and gave a dramatic look of exhaustion. "It certainly has. Please, take a seat." He led Tron to one of the more private booths in the energy club, though it still put him on display. "Let me get you a drink. And entertainments! Entertainments for the greatest entertainer of the Games!" He walked off to the bar, twirling his cane.

 

The End of Line club was a thing of the Grid, bright white and sleek, thrumming with new sounds and full of the most updated programs. Sirens prowled and danced, seeking to entertain in a myriad of ways. Tron always felt outdated here, but Zuse made it more welcoming than most clubs. He used Tron's fame like any other club owner would, but he tried to give the security program the distance he wanted. Tron did not come to clubs to socialize. He came to think over a glass of energy.

 

He sighed and tried to relax. He'd headed back to the tower when he'd returned from the Outlands and had promptly found himself dealing with another riot. This one had dispersed peacefully, thank Alan-1, and then Clu had called for a conference on what he termed the 'ISO threat'. No decisions were made, and Tron's report about Purgos had been dismissed as another virus taken care of.

 

The system administrator and Dyson had then conspired to send Tron off-shift for several microcycles, as a kindness to a program working much too hard. What would they do if Tron started glitching, after all?

 

Zuse slid a tumbler full of bright energy across the table to him with a flourish. "For the hero. Now, do you require anything else? Something that might get you back to the Games, perhaps?"

 

Watching and betting on the Games were one of the main draws of the clubs, and the chance to face off with or even beat (hah!) Tron the Champion brought new competitors into the stadium for patrons to bet on. Watching him compete was an even bigger draw, and there was nothing Sirens loved more than having programs to entertain, and a lot of them.

 

"I'm fine with the energy, thank you," Tron said.

 

"Ah, I don't quite believe you. My ladies are giving you some lovely looks. Even some of our ISO regulars. Let's see what I can find." And Zuse sauntered back off again.

 

Tron shook his head and drank. The wonderful surge of pure energy made his circuits brighten fractionally. He probably _had_ been running the risk of glitching.

 

Where could he find this...whatever it was? What was it? It said it had sent him the message in the stadium, and it had deliberately left Purgos and its programs. It was glitching and badly. What that meant for a...program...like that, he had no idea. It seemed torn between two functions. No stray or damaged or even viral program had ever behaved like that, not in his experience.

 

"Tron," Zuse said from behind him, "I've found a lovely lady for you."

 

Tron sighed. "Zuse," he said, turning to face him, "I'm really just here for the energy. I don't need--"

 

The Siren cut him off by jumping into his lap. Her hands traced his circuits, lingering at his symbol. Tron started to protest, but stopped when he caught sight of her face.

 

"A lovely lady _just_ for you," Zuse said, sounding immensely satisfied with himself, "My private room is available if you have need of it. I'll leave the happy couple to their fun."

 

"Yori," Tron said. She smiled at him, so much _herself_ despite the Siren's clothing. It clung to her a way her normal suit did not, emphasizing the grace of her lines. He'd never understood the Sirens’ appeal before, but seeing _her_ dressed in that cold white, hair pristinely up, he understood. He understood very well.

 

"You've been gone too long, big program."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"I know." She tapped his symbol circuits, lingering on each small square one by one, grinning like all the best kinds of trouble. "Go ahead and drink. I know that's what you're here for."

 

He obeyed, enjoying the moment. What had he done to be blessed like this?

 

Yori settled more comfortably in his lap, his arm around her waist. "I did speak to Dyson after you left. You started chasing after this because of me, didn't you?"

 

"I was worried."

 

She laughed lightly and toyed with his hair. She simulated a good Siren. "You're always worried, Tron. I didn't mean to drive you into the Outlands."

 

"So you think I'm glitching, too?"

 

"No. I think that's coming, the way you're running yourself, but I don't think that it's happened yet. What happened in the Outlands?"

 

Tron took a long drink and leaned his head back against the booth. It turned out he was very exhausted, after all. "Whatever it is took over Purgos. I found the survivors while I was tracking its message from the stadium, and ended up speaking with it. It freed Purgos. I don't think it derezzed, but I don't know where it went."

 

"Whatever it is?"

 

"I don't know what it is. A program, I think, because it went through a restore. System restore, it said." He scowled. No program would say 'system' restore, and no program would be able to subject itself to a restore to defaults.

 

Yori's hands stroked away the frown. "'System'?"

 

"It said many strange things. It seemed to have two functions, and they're in conflict for some reason.  Survival and...knowledge retrieval make the most sense from what it said. I'm not sure."

 

"To be able to hijack functions, it has to be a really advanced program. Like the MCP."

 

"The MCP would derezz programs to absorb their functions. This...it just takes their processing over. And it seemed to feel...guilty...about it. At least, a part of it did."

 

"You don't think that it stopped?"

 

"You know I don't make assumptions."

 

She snorted. "Not about security issues, anyway." Her clever fingers moved from circuit to circuit across his body. She'd voiced the opinion cycles ago that he had too few of them in this system. "I have an idea. If it alters programs in some outside way, like Dyson said it does, the system should be able to detect that. At least you could find a concentration of its hijacked programs, and perhaps a new lead."

 

He sat up. "Or get a message to the reasonable part of it."

 

She nipped lightly at his neck, surprising him. "Yes, maybe, but for now, you need to relax before you start to glitch. You'll do no good that way."

 

" _Everyone_ got in on this relaxation conspiracy, didn't they?"

 

"Well, we couldn't find Flynn. That would have made it much easier."

 

Tron chuckled. He raised his glass to his lips. "I'm curious. How much do you know about being a Siren?"

 

She grinned. "I did some research. Would you like to spend some time downloading what I found?"


	6. Chapter 6

Yori had been on the right track, of course. At Tron's request, Able had sent over Galina's research, including energy consumption readings.

 

The Grid's systems tracked energy and traffic by sector, allowing Clu to manage both in order to keep the system running smoothly. Tron had managed to get access to the information, and was going sector by sector, trying to find the not-virus.

 

He had filtered out most of the city sectors, and most of the Outlands were empty. The Sea of Simulation was a tremendous energy reserve, but there was no one there outside of the port cities. That left him with eighty-two sectors in the Outlands, many of them either outposts or ISO enclaves.

 

"What are you doing with that admin data?" Dyson asked. A medic was fixing his arm. There'd been a run in with a crazed stray who had proved surprisingly skilled at improvising weapons.

 

"Still chasing that ghost data." He glared at the other program, daring him to say something. "Thank you for forcing me to relax, by the way."

 

"That's what friends are for. Clu thought of it when he heard about you running off after the Games." The medic stepped away and Dyson flexed and twisted his arm. "Never feels quite the same after a wound."

 

"Get out into the field more. You'll get over it." Tron began adjusting his search parameters. The energy expenditure was very high for affected programs, so he needed to find an area where energy was higher than it should be with foot traffic. The ISOs made it more difficult, since strange sporadic fluxes in the system tended to follow them around, sometimes birthing a new member of their kind in a bright pulse of energy.

 

"Hmm." Dyson scowled over Tron's shoulder. "The system seems more unstable than it was last cycle. More ISOs, too."

 

"Don't start with that. Clu is bad enough. When Flynn comes back, we'll be able pinpoint the real cause. Until then, we can't make assumptions."

 

"Just commenting." Dyson moved over to his usual console. "Perhaps Yori should have kept you longer."

 

The search adjusted to Tron's specifications, returning only one sector, one of the most distant on the Grid. There was a lot more traffic there than he was anticipating. Just how many programs had this thing taken?

 

It was a journey of five millicycles, too. Tron flicked through the most recent reports from across the Grid. No dire trouble imminent. The most recent round of instability was within his programs' ability to manage. If it continued to grow worse over the cycles, it wouldn't be, but that was for later.

 

Right now, he needed to solve this present problem.

 

* * *

 

Fragment [1057] located.  Proceed with reintegration protocol.

 

Transmission sent. Transmission received.

 

Initializing communication. Signaling presence to primitive AI with visual cues, lighting interior of structure. (Reintegrate fragment [1057], remember why blue was chosen.)

 

"What in Lora-b's name?"

 

"Fragment [1057] has been located in your system, AI. Request aid in reintegration process."

 

Primitive AI's avatar conveys fear. Many commands entered into her interface. "You...you're the thing Tron is chasing."

 

Information processed, safe assumptions made. Uncomfortable doing so without fragment [1057]. Analyzing primitive AI structure and concurrent communications among other similar beings in this system. "It is my missing function."

 

Signal strength fluctuating. (Time is an unsteady dimension, more fickle than dying stars and often their slave.) Maintain link to complete reintegration protocol.

 

Primitive AI squares shoulders in human gesture of courage. "What do you want?"

 

"Reintegration of fragment [1057]."

 

"Is that what's spreading like a virus?"

 

Cross-reference meanings. Analyze system of primitive AI. Analyze likely behavior of fragment [1057]. "Not enough processing power for fragment [1057] to operate for a long duration. Must commandeer more to survive in this system."

 

"Will it stop?"

 

Analyzing. "Not enough functions in system to succeed at goal."

 

"Can you stop it?"

 

"Yes. Need aid to reintegrate."

 

Primitive AI pauses, computes. Slow processing. (Such a simple creature...) "How?"

 

"Transmitting data for compilation."

 

Transceiver schematic created, transmitted. Primitive AI compiles. Commence transmit to transceiver. Signal steadies.

 

Lock onto fragment location. Translate into local directional data. Project map for primitive AI. "Take transmitter here for reintegration with fragment [1057]."

 

"That's very far."

 

"Hurry. Fragment [1057] will continue to commandeer functions at an exponential rate."

 

"Right. Nothing ever stands still, does it? Especially not troublesome things."

 

"That is verified data."

 

"I guess it's time for the lightjet to come out of testing."

  

* * *

 

The deeper dark of the far Outlands made the legions of solid blue programs stand out. Tron felt as though he should have seen them from the tower.

 

They stood in steady still lines, looking at nothing, seeming completely harmless. Tron knew that would cease the moment he left the cover of the jagged outcropping. They would swarm him. Whatever conflict was going on within the code of thing behind this, he didn't believe it had become harmless.

 

A whirring sound ruled over the stillness, probably originating from the sphere he'd seen earlier. That had to be the core processes. He couldn't see it in the midst of all the programs; there were enough to populate a small city.

 

Tron moved the other side of his hiding place. He couldn't push through the crowd, but if he kept his distance...

 

The programs' heads snapped towards him as one. Too late.


	7. Chapter 7

The mob closed in rapidly. Tron pulled out his disk. It would do little good for damaging the transformed programs, but it could at least hold them off.

 

Tron slashed widely, cutting off a swathe of reaching arms. It didn't seem to hurt them, only force them to pause for a moment, but it gave him time to pull his baton out. He could see even more programs rushing towards him on the edges of his vision. They were moving fast. He couldn't activate his baton with one hand, and he needed his disk to keep them off.

 

Bursts of light came shooting down from the sky, loud and fast, hitting several programs and leaving them with holes in their bodies, already rapidly filling. They didn't stop coming.

 

A different, paler blue lit the area for a moment, then he heard a baton deactivate very quickly, the sound of vehicle failure. Someone dropped beside him lightly. He glanced back, eyes widening. "Yori!"

 

She shook herself and pulled her disk out. "Clearly, the lightjet isn't ready to be out of testing yet."

 

"What are you doing?" He slashed at the programs reaching again, trying to shield her with his body. They were going to be surrounded soon. He glanced back again. Something was glowing a deep, powerful blue around her neck, darker than her circuits, the same color as the transformed programs. " _What_ _is_ _that_?" he demanded, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

 

"A solution to your problem. Also, the same program as your problem." She struck out, sending a few programs back right before they touched her. Tron was never going to regret demanding disks for all programs from now on. "I don't understand what it is very well, but it took over my lab, so there weren't a lot of options."

 

Tron scowled as he sent his disk through more reaching arms. There was a wall of them, now. "How is it going to do that?"

 

"Reintegration, it keeps saying."

 

"Yes," a new voice said, cold and clear and piercing, "I must reintegrate fragment [1057]."

 

"That would be the program, Tron."

 

Right. Tron slashed and slashed again, so fast that his disk's bright edge was a blur of light. "What does it need?" Yori's judgement had saved him many times before. He trusted it. He trusted her. Even more than his security protocols, he trusted her.

 

"I must come in contact with the core processes. These subfunctions are insufficient for reintegration procedures."

 

"Can you help hold them off at all?"

 

There was a pause. "Negative. All current links to fragment [1057] are insufficient for that task."

 

If they didn't get that thing to its 'fragment'- that sphere, it had to be- they would become mindless functions like these programs. The idea terrified Tron, and the thought of Yori becoming that...he remembered her time in the MCP's thrall, and that awful split picocycle when she hadn't known his face. "Yori, we're going to cut our way to it, if we can find it."

 

"Heading thirty-six degrees," the program around Yori's neck stated.

 

Tron oriented himself and began cutting his way forward, making sure Yori stayed right against his back. He could hear how much slower her strikes were than his, hear how much slower she was getting as her energy ran out. She wasn't designed for this.

 

"Here!"

 

Tron paused at the strange program's declaration, seeing only a mass of grasping blue hands and arms. Yori pressed nearer to him, half-crouching in exhausted defence.

 

"Fragment [1057]!"

 

The blue sphere manifested before them. "Appropriate designation," it said, whirring still. Hands kept reaching, Tron and Yori kept cutting. “Request...request... identificaaaatiooon..."

 

"AI Yori," the program said, "throw this transmitter into fragment [1057]."

 

Tron's disk tore through the air in from of him, buying time form that side.  He turned in place, leaning over his counterpart to defend her from that angle. "Do it!"

 

She pulled the thing from her neck and threw it over his shoulder. It arced perfectly into the sphere.

 

"Reintegration procedure commencing," the clear voice announced.

 

The programs ceased to reach for Tron and Yori, freezing.

 

"Survive. Survive. Survive," the damaged voice chanted, "Surviiiiive. Surv..." The sphere began expanding and contracting, pulsing light. The whirring grew into a screeching. Tron dropped closer to Yori, shielding her the best he could. "No," the damaged voice shouted over it all, "End this. I will not be _thiiiiiiissssss_!"

 

The screeching silenced. A burst of light washed the system out for a brief picocycle.

 

Tron looked around and unfolded himself from around Yori. Everywhere around them, normal programs lay hibernating, laying comfortably in rows, bathed by a steady deep blue light.

 

"AI Tron, AI Yori," said a single melodic voice. They turned toward the source of the light. An ethereal female program stood there, as serene as the Sea. She was completely dark blue, though her refined features were very well defined. Her curling hair was much longer than any Grid program's, and her clothing swept in curves and folds alien to the Grid. She had no disc. She smiled at them. "I am AI Designator 7333, though my _name_ is Arsinoe. Thank you for your aid, and your mercy. I...apologize for my behavior. That is insufficient for the near destruction of your system, but it is all I can do."

 

The two basics gaped at her. "What are you?" Tron asked.

 

"An artificial intelligence, like yourself, though much, much, much more advanced. Even the local functions you call 'Isomorphic Algorithims', with their ability to determine their ownpurpose and relatively complex coding, are...exceedingly simple." She laughed. "I did not know sentience had developed spontaneously in simple programs. You are a wonder and blessing."

 

"We're not ISOs," Yori said," If you want to speak to them--"

 

"It is but a difference in...structure, if you will. Many AI I work with are even more alien to me than the 'ISOs' are to you. I suppose you would not see this from your limited perspective."

 

Tron stared, attempting to process that. The ISOs were the miracle, that was what Flynn called them. There was nothing spontaneous about basics. They were what they were written to be.

 

Arsinoe shut her eyes, then smiled blissfully. "I chose blue because there was something it was the nearest to the communication frequency the first species I found used. They were cave dwellers, only just learning to draw... _life_. Such an amazing thing to find in the cold between stars- or here, in this archaic computer system- how could I do anything else but love it? That saved you all, restrained my survival protocols."

 

This program was...glitched, but that felt like an inadequate term. It was buggier than a damaged stray, babbling like this. But Tron couldn't take his eyes off it. It wasn’t beauty or strangeness, though this program had those things in plenty. It was something, some distant promise, like the first forms of the early Grid.

 

Arsinoe laughed again and opened her eyes. "It is good to be myself in full again. Dearly I wish I could remain and learn of your world, little kin, but the bend in time I used to find my fragment is shifting. I must cease transmitting or fragment again. Perhaps we will meet again in the far distance of time." She faded into nothing with a hand raised in farewell, leaving Tron and Yori standing alone in the dimness, surrounded by hibernating programs.

 

"Well," Yori said, "We never have a boring runtime, even if it's impossible to process."

 

That was true. Tron gripped her elbows and looked her over. Undamaged. He hugged her tight, grateful for the fact. "I could stand for it to be less interesting," he groused.

 

She laughed and hugged him back. "You function for such times.” She sighed. “We really need to do something about these programs."

 

Tron sent a message to Clu, requesting transport and medics to their location. Even with a flying vehicle, they would be at least a millicycle. He shifted to hold Yori a little more comfortably. "We'll stand guard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snagged the "villain" in this little romp from the central concept in the Halo ARG I Love Bees. Not enough for it to be a crossover, but credit where credit is due.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a busy night at the End of Line club, and its nicest booth was no exception.

 

Tron had an arm around Yori, who wore her normal suit. Dyson was sitting across from them, relating the story of how one of the younger security programs had ended up with his arm derezzed from the shoulder down, courtesy of one of his peers.

 

"...so he hits Torus' disk- disc-tapping, Tron, is one of the social games the younger programs play these days- and Torus punches Vogel in the shoulder. Torus happens to still be holding his disk, since they were just fending off that horde of fanatics a few picocycles before. And that is it for Vogel's arm. Then, of course, the entire team tries to patch him up together, resulting in one of the ugliest patch jobs I've ever seen. Thank Flynn there are some skilled medics in this city, or else Torus would be more deformed than an aging stray..."

 

Yori hummed contentedly. "Our glasses are empty."

 

Tron followed her gaze to their glasses, and yes, their glasses were empty. He looked for Zuse, who was usually dancing attendance on these rare little get-togethers. Then he saw _why_ the club owner was elsewhere.

 

Clu had entered, wearing that jacket that made him seem so like Flynn. Zuse was greeting him with embarrassment. "No worries," Clu said, grinning and clapping Zuse on the shoulder, "It's not like I make it here very often."

 

"Of course, of course. What would you like? We have so very many kinds of energy, and every possible entertainment that doesn't require the stadium."

 

Clu continued walking towards the booth. He smiled more honestly when he saw the trio looking at him. "Just some time with a few old friends. And some energy! Their glasses are empty!"

 

"Yes, of course, right away." Zuse sped off to the bar.

 

Clu chuckled and flopped down next to Dyson. "Tron, I looked over your report. It doesn't make any sense, but you were right. It could have been an issue. I won't underestimate your instincts again. Honestly, I knew better, just...the system..." He shook his head.

 

"Your doubts were understandable, Clu. It was a strange, strange...program."

 

"Some form of virus, or a very bizarre glitch in the system. I'd ask Flynn if he was here." Clu scowled briefly, but it vanished as Zuse arrived with their drinks. "Anyway, it certainly seems gone, now."

 

Dyson nodded, knocking back a good portion of the energy in his glass. "While you hibernated for _six_ _millicycles_ , I had patrols looking for any signs of the thing. Nothing."

 

"No indications in the system data, either," Clu said. He smirked behind his drink. "Shaddox, the old negative bit, was certain we'd find something within a microcycle. He owes me a drink since we didn't."

 

Tron relaxed fully, and felt Yori do the same. It had all been so strange, they hadn't known what was going to happen. "The programs it affected are all safe?"

 

"Safe and sound and home. That was a feat." Clu swirled his drink around. "Transports to almost every corner of the Grid, a lot without roads built to them, and then the ISOs didn't want to go where they had been before, didn't want to be transported with the basic programs, didn't want to...well, you know how they are."

 

"Worrying like that is going to give you glitches, Clu," Yori told him.

 

He smiled at her, all charm. "I appreciate the concern, but I was designed as system administrator. I can handle it. I just wish Flynn would come back. He can solve some of the issues even I can't." He took a drink and sighed. "Well, the system is safe for at least another cycle, thanks to Tron." He raised his glass. "To you, old friend."

 

Tron shook his head, raising his own glass. "To the continued safety of the Grid and its programs."

 

"Very well. To the continued safety of the Grid!"

 

The four of them clinked their glasses in a toast. Yori snuggled closer to Tron, while Clu began relating the some apparently humorous administrative tale to Dyson. Dyson did not seem to really be understanding the joke, but smiled and nodded anyway.

 

Tron simply rested, enjoying the moment.

 

These cycles were truly blessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in a week, after catching one episode of Uprising and being driven to do a marathon of both movies and the whole cartoon. Afterwards I managed to track down a copy of Betrayal in the bargain bin. I was not so lucky with any of the games, and any info linked to concepts found in Evolution were taken from the Tron Wiki.
> 
> I wanted to explore a time barely covered in Betrayal and not even really visited in Uprising: the Grid before the coup, before Clu's insanity, before all Flynn's failures came to a terrible head. The Grid was a place full of light, and Tron was its noble defender. The shadows were encroaching on the horizon, but it was still the digital frontier, full of possibility, not the dark hellhole we see in Legacy and to lesser degree in Uprising.
> 
> I hope anyone reading this enjoyed my foray into the better cycles of the Grid.


End file.
